Completion
by edka88
Summary: When Erik married Christine, he never intended to share her with anyone. She had different ideas.
1. Chapter 1

Hello everyone!

Here I am again, and again with a non-one-shot – I never thought I'd finish another longer story.:) While I've been writing I pictured it as a kind of sequel to Aftermath, but it can stand alone, also. There will be four chapters and I plan to post them weekly. Let me know what you think!

**Ch01**

"Do it again," he ordered and she nodded before starting to play again. It wasn't any different than the first time and Christine expected her husband demanding to repeat the piece she was learning, but instead of that he rounded the piano and stopped beside her, concern plainly obvious on his face.

"You look so pale. Are you well?"

"Yes, I'm fine," she said and turned back to the keys but then suddenly leapt to her feet. "Excuse me," she choked while rushing out of the room. Erik looked after her suspiciously and when she didn't return in two minutes, he lowered himself to the couch, counting all the possibilities she might not have told him.

When finally she came back after ten minutes or so she looked paler than before (if that was possible) but she didn't give him any excuse; she simply sat back to the piano as if nothing had happened. He stood up from the couch alarmed.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she lied. He sat down beside her.

"We don't have to finish this lesson if you don't feel well," he said gently while smoothing back some of her hair from her face and she granted him a weak smile.

"I'm fine," she rasped.

"I don't believe you," he said and dropped his hand. "You told me you were fine yesterday and the day before but I know you weren't. Now tell me."

"I didn't lie," she began, her eyes darting up to his. "There's nothing wrong with me. I…" She stopped, thinking about the best way how to tell him the truth. Days she might have spent with listing through the possible words she would describe him her current state but she still didn't have the best solution. Her eyes flickered up to his but that didn't help at all. "I'm with child," she blurted out finally. Tension of days was lifted from her shoulders in that moment; now she had to simply wait through his reaction, what wasn't any better.

"Are you…?" He started but couldn't finish; air disappeared and the walls started to close around him. He couldn't say that word. She couldn't be…

"Yes, I am with child," she answered calmly but he'd already jumped from the bench.

"Don't say it again!" He warned and walked from her as far as he was able.

"You're not happy for it…" She stated dumbly, finding herself too tired to make herself seem perfectly under control or to be ready to calm his temper. She deserved to be weak sometimes!

"How could I be?" He cried and turned towards her suddenly. "When did you think you'd tell me? If you wanted to let me know it at all."

"I didn't want to tell you like this. I wanted to tell you for days now, I just didn't know how."

"Since when do you know it?" He asked quietly, closing his eyes.

"I'm only sure for a week," she answered timidly, perfectly aware of the fact that she should have told him earlier. Now he was rightfully angry because of her hesitation.

"Why didn't you tell me?" He inquired, his voice still low and even. For a moment, Christine believed that he could be convinced to accept it more easily that she originally thought.

"I didn't know how to tell you. We've never talked about children so I thought…"

"That if you don't let me know I'll never notice it?" He demanded, his tone suddenly shrill and unforgiving.

She shuddered. The years she'd spent as his wife taught her not to be afraid of his anger; it never brought him to physical violence towards her, not even once. He had not just spoken about partnership in their marriage, Christine experienced it countless times that he meant it, too, for example when he asked her opinion about books or asked her which cadenza did she think would be better for this or that song. Except now. His implacability disappointed her – contrary that it was what she'd expected -, and at the same time, angered her. But the shudder was the result of the first.

"I did mean to tell you. Why are you holding this against me as if conceiving was my fault?" She asked finally, as calm as she was able to, but as she spoke the word that referred to her state he visibly shivered.

"I don't want any child!" He yelled and without another word, he was already out of the door, shutting it loudly behind himself.

Fury clouded her mind for a fairly long moment, wanting him to come back only to throw it in his face how exasperating and selfish he was, but as the moment passed, she broke down in hapless sobs. That was exactly what was she afraid of, the reason behind her hesitation. She should have spoken with him earlier about having a child but then that she didn't conceive for years, she didn't bring it up. In fact, she began to worry that maybe she'll never be a mother and then was so overly glad that it happened.

But the problem was already there: how best to tell her husband.

"You'd better get used to his temper now because he wouldn't change," Christine murmured softly to her unborn baby while laughing at her current weeping - she hadn't cried over their arguments in ages. The sulking after their arguments never lasted longer than a few hours on either of their sides, and after then everything was back to normal. Eventually during the years of their marriage Christine learnt to ignore their fights just like Erik. What a pity that pregnancy's all symptoms seemed to find her!

Wiping away the tears frustrated, she rose from her seat and began pacing around the room then around the house, not staying in one room more than two minutes. _He will come back – eventually. _Hopefully he wouldn't stay away for the whole day – or what is worse, days even! No. He would come back, she just had to wait until he did so.

At some point, she became hungry and ate what she found, not bothering to prepare a decent dinner; then she tried to read, but after finding that she was reading the same line for the twelfth time, she stopped that, too. Nightfall came and then it became completely dark outside but she was still alone. _What if he wouldn't come back at all?_ It was ridiculous to think that he would abandon her because of a simple fight but the thought couldn't convince her.

_He will come back._

_He will come back._

In the end, she found her place in front of the window, wishing to catch a glimpse of his tall frame in the darkness and yearning for the moment he would be back in the house again.

_He will come back._

She was crying again but made no attempt to make her tears stop. No one saw her so what did it matter? One hand lifted to wipe away a few of them but there were other ones to take their place.

"Please stop crying; your tears are killing me," came his soft voice from the direction of the door and she turned towards him – he really looked miserable. As wicked as it sounded, she was still quite satisfied with the fact.

"You're so stubborn," she growled while she was fighting to make her tears disappear – their effect remained there, though.

"You are as well," he answered as he took several steps towards her and Christine didn't hesitate to run to him – his arms went around her as if she was made of glass. Was it because of the child or because of his uncertainty, she didn't know.

"Why?" She whispered to his chest.

"You're still here, aren't you?"

"I'll always be here," she answered and snuggled up to him, breathing him in – it was so long ago that she'd last felt him so near. The mere hours seemed days when he was far away.

"Christine, forgive me," he choked and tightened his grasp on her; his voice broke on the last syllable. For a very long while only his labored breathing could be heard and Christine waited patiently, just in case he had any intention to continue. He had.

"I've been so frightened," he whispered minutes later and Christine stood a little straighter. This was about partnership and letting her know his fears was one of the things she appreciated the most. He could have very well refused her to see him in his weakness – but he didn't. He could have dealt with this alone but she didn't want him to. They were friends, after all.

"I still am," he finished. Now his voice was barely audible, a loud thought, nothing more.

"Why?" She asked him, not breaking their tight embrace.

He gave a short, bitter laugh. "It's always the same. I don't want to lose you."

"You won't," she hurried to assure him but she felt his head moving from side to side.

"Giving birth was never a safe occurrence," he explained but somehow his reason didn't sound sincere in her ears.

"But that's not what you meant, is it?"

Silence.

"No," he blurted out finally.

"But?"

"I don't want you to have anyone beside me." He was angry now, most probably because he didn't wish her to know about this, but then again, he could have refused to tell it. "Anyone," he repeated emphatically.

"But a child, Erik? Our child?"

No answer.

"A little child who would be like you and me? A little representation of both of us."

"Yes, what a wonderful life he or she would have."

It was odd. In one moment he clearly declared how he didn't want to have anybody who he would have to share Christine with, yet in the next moment he was worrying about their child's life, should she or he inherit his – misfortune. How could be the two troubling him at the same time?

"Our child wouldn't necessary inherit your face, Erik," Christine tried; it was without effect.

"Why? How do you know?" He pulled back fervently, taking her elbows in his palms. "How can you tell me for sure? Do you think my mother saw this coming?"

"If… if it didn't happen… in your family before… maybe – maybe it won't pass to your child, either." Christine answered; it occurred to her too late that it would have meant that it was only him who had to live with such a curse. Not very comforting.

"I don't want it." Whether he meant it to a child or a deformed child it didn't turn out from his grave tone.

"I will love her or him whether he or she would be deformed or not," Christine said gently while cupping his cheek in her palm, lifting his head to look into his eyes. "I already do."

"It's a she," he corrected her as if this information should have been clear for her as well.

"Is it?" She retorted, venturing to allow herself a small smile.

"Yes."

Her hand slid from his face to his chest where he captured it with his. She took a full breath and exhaled quickly.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier. This was exactly what I wanted to avoid," she said at last.

"I love you," he breathed against her forehead before kissing it reverently.

"You know that I love you, too," she answered in the same tone, moving her arms around his back.

"But your child…"

"Loving _our_ child doesn't affect my feelings for you. I can love you both," she assured him.

Later that night they climbed into bed together, cuddling up to their usual position before falling asleep. He rested his hand on her stomach, not being able to decide whether it was his hope or his greatest fear that the child would disappear during the night.


	2. Chapter 2

**Ch02**

Christine was standing in front of the kitchen table, measuring indigents into a deep bowl while nibbling at a pearl in her hands. She spent considerably more time in that room in the last two months of her pregnancy; too much, perhaps. But Erik didn't seem to mind it at all.

_There must be some apple here…_

When she found the desired fruit, she chopped it into little pieces then threw them into the bowl, then she stopped and frowned. _Why not adding some green pepper as well?_

Washing the vegetable preoccupied her mind well enough so she didn't hear the figure approaching behind her; she gasped at the sudden feeling of two arms around her waist.

"Erik, you…" She stopped short – his hands found their way on her stomach in a slow caress, as if searching for something. It was pretty confusing: he didn't particularly seek any physical evidence of their child before. "What are you doing?"

"Ssh," he silenced her and continued his unnamed activity on her abdomen.

"You've never…"

"Ssssh."

"Won't you tell me?" She asked after two minutes when he still gave no answer to her question.

"Checking on you," he answered casually as if it was the most natural thing in the world. In fact it was, if not a little unusual since the process meant that he had to acknowledge the presence of their child as well.

"What are _you_ doing?" He asked back and eyed the content of the bowl suspiciously – it would be hard to figure it out merely from the ingredients.

"Salad. I'm so hungry," came her reply and she added some carrot to the meal. Maybe her idea wasn't such a lost cause, he decided, there was some kind of sauce under the vegetables, too.

"You always are," he said finally.

"Any complaints?"

"None."

They stood in that silent embrace for a couple of minutes until his reverent tone broke it.

"Did you feel that?" He asked when he felt a soft kick under his palm.

She chuckled softly. "I did. You know, it all happens inside of me."

"I also felt it tonight," he continued, his voice still low and solemn.

"You're quite happy about it," she said with pretended accusation.

"I'm not." He stated simply but his tone wasn't convincing the slightest.

"You're lying."

"Uh-hmm," he answered as he kissed her neck lightly and she covered his hand with her own.

"That was the first time you felt it, was it not?" She asked gently and snuggled back further into his embrace.

"Yes."

One short word but it told her how deeply moved he was, contrary that he refused to talk about it. So he was seeking out their child's growing anyway. Christine had to stifle a smile – it was so characteristic for him. She herself had recognized that the little movement in her stomach as the movement of their child for about two days earlier – he wasn't so much after her. It was an incredibly comforting feeling to know that he cared just as much as she did, even if secretly. She suspected it anyway.

Turning around she gave a lingering kiss to his lips, content that he pulled her closer despite her huge and shapeless body. If it was possible, she loved him even more for that.

"Would you give me from what you're preparing?" He asked his wife when they broke apart.

"I thought you'd find it disgusting…"

"It looks quite good despite its oddities."

With a broad smile on her face she served him from her peculiar concoction. There was nothing he wouldn't be her partner in.

- o -

Her lips softly brushed his as she breathed a kiss to them, but it soon escalated into a fierce, passionate gesture. His hands sneaked into her hair, his fingers tangling between her curls while her palms slid from his face to his neck, finally ending up in drawing paths on his chest. She knew he wanted her – and she wanted him just as much, if not more.

Her lips travelled down his jaw, taking her time to press slow kisses along his neck while his hands escaped from her hair, caressing her shoulders, moving down and down in every passing minute; leaving her shoulders, her sides, passing through her back…

"Don't stop," she whispered between kisses and his hands began their journey up on her body, where he suddenly froze, pulling his hands back.

"Wait!"

Christine looked up rather confused. His chest was heaving with his labored breathing as he drew back, holding her by her upper arms. "Wait."

"Why?" Her voice never sounded so disappointed before.

"We are being watched," Erik revealed uneasily, still holding her by the arms reluctantly. Until that little creature didn't give any signs of being alive, he could easily step through such a small detail that his wife was with child. However, the changes in her body were now emphasized by the knowledge that there really was someone inside of her.

"By who?" She asked in disbelief, but the answer dawned on her soon. "Oh."

"She's… too close," he admitted, definitely embarrassed by the subject of the confession.

"Well…" Christine licked her lips absently – Erik longed to do the same. "For a short while… why not pretend that… she's not there?" She offered hopefully but he gave her a rather quizzical look.

"It would hardly be believable," he argued, looking down at her protruding stomach.

"But… but she can't see us yet. She can't see anything from inside," Christine tried again.

"But I'd be…" He couldn't finish, however, and she hurried to reassure him.

"It's not as if she would want to come out… or you in."

From the suffering look in his eyes she could tell how his emotions fought inside. It wouldn't take too much effort to convince him, probably.

"Imagine that there's a closed door between… you and her. Yes, there is a closed door," Christine finished triumphantly and peered up into his eyes, and managed to stop herself from using that pleading look on him. It would hardly be fair.

"Well… if it is so…" His arms went around her waist, pulling her closer as he tentatively kissed his wife again. It was definitely _safer _now.

"There's just you and me," she purred in reassurance and apparently, it worked - Erik was busy with drawing her towards the bedroom. He stopped before they reached the bed, though.

"Would it not be… uncomfortable… for you to…"

Before he had a chance to withdraw again, she spoke again. "No! If the sight of my enlarged form wouldn't disappoint you I could be…"

The door clicked shut behind them.

- o -

"I hate this!" Christine cried out with annoyance.

She was sitting in a chair, waiting helplessly for her husband to pull on her shoes to her feet. Until the last month or so she accepted her growing and constantly changing body without much complaint, especially so because Erik never mentioned that he was displeased with the sight. Quite the contrary, he still found her desirable and after their little talk about 'the door', their encounters in the bedroom was similarly thrilling as they'd been before. But this, this was just disheartening.

"It's embarrassing," she growled and he finished fastening her shoelaces.

"Don't think of it. It's the natural way of things, I fear," Erik answered, trying to console her, but he wasn't sure that anything he could say would calm her. Once, in a fleeting, horrible moment he wondered what would he do if he was cursed with all of her… problems - since then nothing sounded good enough or reassuring to his ears.

He offered her his arm and then literally pulled her up from the chair.

"Yes; and is that natural too, that I could very well move in the bathroom? I spend half of my days in there!"

It wasn't a usual habit of her to lament on her state, nor did she like it if he felt even the slightest pity for her but after she had to call for his help today to get up from bed she was rather grumpy in the whole morning.

"It will pass with time." However, it occurred to him, that would mean the birth of their child and he wasn't looking forward to that. Why things had to change all the time? She had just told him about her pregnancy not so long ago and now the result of it threatened to appear very soon. On any day, in fact. If he had the power to prolong their precious time together… But likely Christine wouldn't be so fond of the idea of having to suffer all of the symptoms of bearing a child any longer. And she was so excited to hold their little infant!

Not as if he wasn't curious himself! But…

There were so many 'buts' that he stopped counting them long ago.

"Do you still feel like walking?" He asked her and was faced with her remorseful expression.

"Yes. Forgive me for whining so much."

As usual, he kissed her temple tenderly in a hope that it would be enough for now, and then opened the door to the garden.

It became their everyday routine to spend part of their mornings in the garden. First it was Christine's request for Erik to escort her on one of her walks, and then he just remained present every other time. Once she asked him whether it made him feel uncomfortable to be outside, but he assured her that as long as there was just the two of them, it wasn't so terrible, after all. Christine was convinced he had especially good times with her.

There was a beautiful weather outside this morning, not too warm – which came to annoy Christine beyond reason in the last two weeks – and different birds chirped happily on the trees. It would be a perfect day for sitting down on the grass and do nothing, if only she could have been sure that she would be able to stand up again. So she resumed walking beside her husband.

"Meg said she got the leading role in that new ballet, the Swan Lake," she began after a minute.

"Uh-hmm," he answered distractedly; it was obvious from his tone that he wasn't really paying attention.

"After she twisted her ankle in last year and she had to retire for the whole season she was more than surprised to get the role without even auditioning." Christine said suspiciously but Erik still wasn't looking at her. And she didn't even mention that after she left the stage it was 'mysteriously' a lot more ballets in the season program than operas. Interesting, really.

"Isn't she happy about it?" He asked at last, feigning nonchalance.

"Yes, she is! Overjoyed, actually." She stopped for a moment. "You have nothing to do with that, have you?"

"No. Absolutely nothing."

She gave him a short chuckle and leant her head on his shoulder briefly. "And why have you done it?"

"I won't allow that after I had to replace the leading soprano, I should find a new prima ballerina as well. And I especially won't allow amateurs on my stage."

"Uh-hmm. And what was the real reason?" Christine asked back and Erik stopped walking, turning to face her.

"That you said that should you have the power to give her the role as her return to stage, you would do it in a moment. I have that power."

"Yes, but that was a private conversation! You weren't supposed to be there!"

"I haven't been there, just overheard you."

"Overheard?"

"Yes! I don't need to stalk on you anymore, remember?"

"Sorry." She fell silent for a while but her curiosity just couldn't rest. "You really weren't eavesdropping?"

"Christine, no!" He sighed agitatedly. "If I've been eavesdropping, now I would know why she isn't married yet. But I don't."

From his tone it was clearly apparent that he was pretty irritated by that fact, so Christine decided to reward him for his loyalty. "She'd seen his fiancée courting another girl, without his ring, of course. It was bad enough alone, but when Meg challenged him because of it, he plainly denied everything."

"From her voice I thought it has a more interesting story behind it," he answered, clearly disappointed.

"Well, what came next was quite interesting, I assure you. She said she broke up her engagement – unfortunately it hasn't happened privately – and since he was so defiant, Meg had to resort to some very unladylike manners."

Her husband's brow lifted with question, and Christine continued while struggling to fight down her giggles. "He's fine by now, I suppose."

For a while they walked in silence, until Christine spoke again. "You know, she never tells me so but I think she's slightly jealous of us."

"She wasn't when you told her who you want to marry…" He murmured under his breath but Christine heard him anyway.

"No. But now it's actually _you_ who she is jealous of." She felt him tense beneath her fingers and he wasn't looking at her.

"I trust you haven't told her everything," he said coldly, continuing their morning stroll steadily. Christine's grasp tightened on his arm and he snapped his head to her side but she just shook her head dismissively.

"Of course I haven't told her… everything." But that dim pressure in her abdomen didn't cease as it always did in the last few days. "I want to go back," she addressed him, turning back to the house. Better if they got back before she revealed him what she already knew.

"Your dress…" She heard him saying in a very tense, very forced voice.

"I know," she answered. "Let's go back inside."

It should have been her hand that pressed hard his arm but his grip far outran hers. She dared not to be frightened when he was obviously already terrified.

When Erik shut the door behind them she saw how savagely his hands trembled.

"Sit down," he rasped without turning back to her.

"I'm not supposed to sit down just yet."

"I said sit down," he hissed and she warily complied. Apparently he hoped to take control over the events by force and for a moment she truly pitied him. She could only imagine how restless he would be in the next few hours – thankfully they'd already agreed that he wouldn't be with her in the same room while she would be in labor. If it was for her, he wouldn't even be in the same house, either, but that was impossible to carry out with such a stubborn man like him.

Her breath hitched in her throat and she gripped her knees. The pain only lasted for a moment and she sighed gratefully. He shouldn't see her in pain – he would be devastated by feeling useless.

But her silence already betrayed her; when he turned around – carefully, hoping in vain that she was feeling well – his eyes mirrored his frantic fear.

"I'm fine," she said calmly. It didn't convince him. "It's not so bad… yet."

"Tell me what to do," he said hoarsely, his voice reminding her of begging. He never begged.

"Go and bring here the midwife."

He continued to look down at her sitting form gravely and then slowly crouched in front of her.

"Erik, she just has to come out at some point." The pressure was simply unpleasant yet, but she closed her eyes against it nonetheless.

"But couldn't she wait a little longer?" He insisted obstinately and she took his hand in a useless attempt to calm him.

"I'm afraid not."

"I want so much to help you." He tried to conceal the wince but he knew she saw it anyway.

"I know. That's why you have to bring here the midwife."

"Will you be all right?"

"Yes," she hissed and pressed his hand tightly. "Don't worry, my love."

But he did and she feared that it wouldn't cease until she would finish her labor. He kissed her hand briefly.

"Please don't frighten her too much," she called after him.

"I don't need to want to be frightening for her to be afraid of me," he answered and it gave her hope. If he objected to something, he'd be fine.

With one last stolen glance, he softly shut the door behind him.

Now it was time for her to panic as well.


	3. Chapter 3

**Ch03**

Another thirty seconds passed.

That damned thing surely stopped moving. Erik was watching it as if he could speed up the clock hand simply by looking at it intently - it refused to move faster.

Jumping from his seat he took another round in the room.

Two minutes passed.

Something ran down his fingers.

Blood. His own, thankfully. He remembered wiping it from his knuckles minutes ago - or was that hours ago? _Whatever._ He took a towel and cleared most of it in one movement while another minute passed.

Exactly how long should it take? She was up there for… for… years.

For a moment he wished again – for the hundredth time on that day, probably – to be ignorant of the knowledge how the process of giving birth was meant to progress; of course, nothing changed. Christine's shrieks continued with adamant regularity and the urge to run upstairs and watch over her until she… finished, became almost insurmountable. Too bad that she strictly forbade him to come even near the room.

Something was crashing under his boots and when he looked down he discovered the remnants of the vase from the table on the floor. Was it him who crashed that? He tried to remember when it happened but he soon gave up without any certain proof. It must have been when he heard her scream the last time. It was such a tempting possibility to leave the house since he couldn't help her and wasn't allowed to be close to her, but he wanted to be near in case something went wrong. He had to be there to help her.

_Nothing would go wrong. _

It was such a ridiculous statement when the sound of her pain was piercing his brain in every passing moment.

Five minutes passed.

With a huff he flopped down on the piano bench and wanted to play, only to find that his fingers refused to obey him, and from the shaking of his hands he couldn't play a single note in tune. The dissonant chords of his clenched fists filled the room for minutes, but at least it was the only sound that he heard during that time.

Exactly how long would it last?

He jumped again, pacing and stamping in turn. That damned room was smaller and smaller with every round.

Two more minutes.

It seemed her screams stopped but he couldn't decide whether it was because finally one of his prayers had been answered or because he had gone deaf. Or something happened.

Without thinking he run upstairs, taking three steps at a time - when he got closer to the door, he heard the faint sounds of talking. Two person's talking. Good. So the midwife should come out in any minute. Without a sound, he went downstairs again, settling down in front of the clock again. For a fleeting moment he thought about crashing that object, too, since it only worsened the wait – but unfortunately the clock was also the only thing that kept him close to sanity. If the midwife wouldn't come down in the next two minutes, he would surely go upstairs despite Christine's request.

The soft sound of light footsteps interrupted his constant maddening thoughts; however, when the woman caught a glimpse of him she dropped her gaze to the floor instead of speaking. She must have seen the mess that used to be the living room but in that moment he couldn't care less.

"May I go in?" His own voice sounded strange in his ears, and the woman in front of him didn't lift her eyes as she answered,

"Yes, monsieur."

Her cold and obvious fear of him angered him as it always did, but now he felt far too tired to care about it. He was wearing that accursed mask! What would she do if he wasn't?

"For your effort," he growled while holding out several thousands of franks. The midwife shoot a short and surprised glance at him while she curtsied clumsily, then took the money from his hand, careful not to even brush his skin before she soundlessly scurried out of the house.

After the door clicked shut everything fell silent. He was allowed to go to her.

But did he _really_ want to go in?

First of all, he forced his limbs to move and closed the door. Now. Now he would go in but what would he find there? That infuriating woman didn't even tell him whether it was a boy or a girl. Or that the child was healthy or was bearing his features.

His heart was heavier with every step. What if their child looked like… him? Christine said it didn't matter to her, that she would love her child no matter if it bore its father's countenance, but how could _he_ live with the horrible burden that his child was cursed because of him?

His child… He didn't even want a child! Any child! A child needed real parents, not a poor excuse of a father like him.

By the time he got to _the_ door he felt he was choking. For hours all he wanted to do was to go inside but suddenly he was a lot less eager than before. What if…

With a sudden determination he pushed the door silently open, stepped in and then softly closed it again.

Christine was reclined to the headboard, paler than ever, her matted hair carelessly swept back from her face, and she was holding a little white bundle in her arms.

_A child._

The suffocating feeling became unbearable and Erik took the mask from his face, holding it awkwardly in his hands while leaning back to the door for support. She looked up from the bundle to his eyes but said nothing, simply smiled at him weakly.

"How are you feeling?" He rasped though he felt it was him who needed to be asked in that moment.

"Tired. Weak." She sighed. "And happier than ever." She watched with curiosity how he squeezed the mask in his hands. He never wore it anymore in her presence; he only had to put it on because of the midwife in their home.

"Boy or girl?" He asked, still clutching at his mask as if its presence would protect him from the forthcoming disaster.

"Didn't she tell you?" Christine asked in disbelief, her exhausted features coming to a frown.

"No, she practically ran out of the door in her haste to leave," he answered, feigning nonchalance.

"Don't care about it, Erik. She's just…"

He cut her off by whispering, "I know." It would never change how people reacted to his features, but as foolish and futile it was, he still found himself hoping against all of his experiences sometimes.

Carefully he placed the mask on the vanity, taking the time with that one simple task before turning back to his wife. "So?"

"Girl," she beamed at him and waited for his "I told you." It never came.

_A girl with__out a face._

"Won't you come closer?" He heard her soft voice distantly.

"Christine, I…" His voice broke down miserably. He tried again. "Tell me. Tell me now if she…" He couldn't finish; the thought was torturous enough and saying it was impossible. But she just shook her head.

"No. She's not. You may come here." She lifted one trembling hand towards him and he took a hesitant step forward, then stopped again.

"She… She may be scared… of me."

"She won't," Christine protested gently. "And she's asleep."

He took another step. Then another. Slowly he approached his wife and… daughter. He had a daughter. A family. A real family. He stopped right next to his wife but he couldn't look at his child until Christine softly touched his hand with hers and then finally, Erik caught the first glimpse of his daughter.

She had no scars.

"She's perfect," he whispered in awe. All he could see was that tiny face without any resemblance of her father, only the perfect, round, pink features of a little girl.

He dropped to his knees next to the bed and Christine watched with amusement how he kept muttering the exact same words for minutes - she was sure he wasn't aware of what he was doing. Lightly taking her free hand he began kissing her fingers, still muttering, and Christine saw the forming tears in his eyes, the little drops running down on his cheeks and glistering on the back of her hand. He didn't want a child. He barely acknowledged her state during her pregnancy and now… now he was repeatedly thanking her for granting him the blessing of a child. He was such a peculiar man.

Feeling slightly embarrassed he managed to compose himself and sat back on his corner, then woodenly wiped away the remnants of his tears.

If only she wasn't so tired… She felt her eyes would close in any minute but she wasn't ready to be separated from her little girl so quickly. Yet small as she was, her little weight was still so much more than Christine could handle in her exhausted state.

"Erik," she called softly and his eyes shyly met hers, but then dropped his gaze to the floor again. A crying husband was all she needed at this time. He kept being silent.

"Would you please put her in her bed?" She asked him quietly; he was looking at her as if she was suddenly speaking a foreign language. "I can't do it by myself," she added.

"But you're feeling well, aren't you?" He asked, worry and fear written all over his face. He rarely allowed her to see his fears but this time was obviously an exception.

"I wouldn't go so far as to say I'm fine, but yes, I'm well enough."

"I can give you something for the pain," he offered. "You know that you don't have to suffer contrary that they may have convinced you that it was necessary."

She granted him a weak smile. "I know. You were – you are – an excellent teacher. But I can handle it now."

"You'll tell me if it changes. Anything foreign you feel you will tell me immediately. Do you understand?"

"Yes," she sighed, too tired to argue about his unnecessary anxiety.

"Anything."

"Yes, I understood," she repeated obediently.

"Tell me if you need something. Ask for anything you want and I'll give it to you," he vowed and took her hand again. Her fingers gave him a little squeeze.

"I only wish to sleep. Please, put her in her bed."

Reluctantly he rose to his feet while letting go of her hand and listened to her as she explained him how to hold a small child. In the end, though, she was very unwilling to let go of her – their – daughter; he could tell from the hurt look in her eyes as he carefully took the girl into his arms.

He was holding his child.

His little daughter; she was so light and peaceful. _Would she be that peaceful as well if she knew who was holding her?_

Trying to avoid touching her longer than it was necessary, he softly placed the little bundle into her bed and turned back to Christine, who motioned him to drape the blanket over the little girl. Air seemed to return to him now that he wasn't holding her and Erik once again took his place beside his wife on the floor.

"The midwife said I have to drink plenty of water," she blurted out completely incongruously, and he filled the glass on the bedside table and handed her, watching closely as she emptied it; then put it back to the table with a soft thud, glancing at the sleeping infant. She didn't stir.

"What else did she say?" He asked softly as she slid down on the bed, refusing his offered help. She couldn't prevent him to cover her with the blanket, though.

"She gave me some advice what to do in the first days; that I should rest as much as I can. I didn't argue with her," she said drowsily. His hand was on hers again, if he let it ever go at all. "She said I did well," she smiled distantly. "A seven-hour long labor is very good for the first time. She said that sometimes it lasts more than a day."

"I'm not sure I could have endured it for even a minute longer," he murmured, not sure he wanted to say it aloud. She only smiled a little. She smiled a lot contrary her obvious exhaustion.

"Is the room still intact downstairs?" She asked sleepily, relishing the way how his hand covered her cheek, caressing it only in a light touch.

"Mostly," he answered uneasily. "It will be when you come down."

Her eyes closed and she smiled again. Obviously she was on the verge of falling asleep by now.

"Sleep now, Christine," he kissed her temple and watched how she fought against falling asleep anyway.

"Watch over her until I wake up."

"I will. Rest now."

"I love you," she breathed, already asleep and he wished he could hold her as he always did. Unfortunately, most probably she was far too sore for anything but a light touch. Grudgingly he pried himself up from the floor.

"I love you, too," he whispered, content in the thought that she spoke the words first, and with a last glance at his wife's sleeping form he walked to his daughter's bed.

Unbelievable that this little thing was inside of his wife for months. And that it was his doing as well to get her there. It was meant to happen like that, yes, and yet it was still incomprehensible to have the power of creating something – someone. What was more unbelievable that the girl didn't bear his mark on her. She was beautiful, he had to admit. Red and wrinkled but beautiful nonetheless. He couldn't stop the small smile forming on his lips. Maybe his daughter could love him as her mother did. Maybe… maybe she wouldn't be scared of his ghostly appearance...

He would always be patient with her and would never, ever hurt her. Strikes hurt so much more than one could think.

And he would teach her a lot of things. He could teach her anything she wanted to know, anything in the world, really. But first he would teach her sing. Or to play the piano. Or…

First time in months, he didn't think about his daughter as a threat or something he felt upset about. Christine still loved him, after all, and that was all that mattered. He would still have her wife with him, all that changed that she had a child now. _They_ had a child now. That was what normal couples did, wasn't it? Raising children… a child. One child was more than enough for them, he decided, and he would convince Christine about that, too. She wouldn't want to suffer again that much, would she?

Pulling a chair next to the little bed he took his promised guarding position and buried his face into his hands. How he longed to take his place beside his wife! He had no idea when he'd sleep again; it was said newborns usually cry all day long. This little creature was quite silent, at least.

He sighed.

It would be nice to hear her voice, though.


	4. Chapter 4

Hello all! Thanks a lot for everyone who reviewed, favorited or read this story, I'm so very happy you liked it! Sadly, it's over, but if I have new idea for it, I'll upload it later. Thanks again for reading!

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><p><strong>C<strong>**h04**

The voice seemed to be nearer and nearer with every kick of her legs. The weight of water was pressing her down adamantly but she only had one thing to care about: reach the surface. Strangely enough water didn't blur her vision, only her hearing.

If only she could take a full breath already…

Christine woke with a start and took a deep breath, her hand already searching the spot beside her, only to find that it was not just empty but cold as well.

The calmness of understanding washed over her. Oh, the voice. It must have been because of the voice.

The voice of her daughter's whimper.

Christine tumbled out of the bed ungracefully, throwing back the covers in her haste and running to the adjoining room.

However, she stopped short in the doorway, closed her eyes, then opened them again. She wondered whether she was still asleep. Erik was standing next to the little girl's bed, holding the screaming infant in his arms, and God help her, Christine even imagined he was rocking her gently. Yes, she was definitely asleep. He _never _held his daughter in his arms since the day she was born. True, he helped her as best as he could, doing for her anything she asked - even granting her the things she dared not to ask for - except what included holding, or even touching their daughter. Christine could only hope that one day he would accept the idea of having a daughter.

"I didn't want to wake you," he confessed silently and a little guiltily. For about two long minutes he waited in vain that she would wake on her own and that he wouldn't have to get up, but then conscience won and he rushed to silence the little child.

"You didn't wake me," she groaned sleepily while walking to them, rubbing her eyes with her fingers. "I can't believe I didn't wake up earlier," she said and took the child from her husband who immediately calmed a little as she came in contact with her mother's comforting body.

"You worked so hard in the last weeks," he soothed her by giving a soft kiss to her temple. However, when Christine sat down on the small couch and when Erik noticed that she began unbuttoning her nightgown he warily tried to escape the following scene.

"You don't have to leave every single time I feed her; I don't mind the company," she offered and stopped her ministrations at the same time, waiting for his answer. He remained silent. "Would you stay?" She asked hopefully.

"I..." he began uneasily, looking back at the safety of the bedroom and then at his wife and daughter, who started to wail again since Christine still wasn't giving her what she wanted. With a groan, he settled himself beside his family, deliberately looking anywhere else than at his wife who was meanwhile nursing the now quiet little girl.

Something touched his hand and Erik pulled it back abruptly. When he turned a little, though, he realized it was Christine and with an apologetic look he squeezed her hand briefly.

"You may leave if seeing us makes you feel uncomfortable," she said, though her curiosity was growing with each passing moment. The chance that he would ever tell her the reason beyond his distant behavior was highly unlikely if she kept pressing him on the matter, but she couldn't be sure he would tell her on his own. She decided to remain silent; maybe he would initiate a conversation at last.

"No, just..." He casted a furtive look at his daughter then dropped his gaze to the floor again. "It's so... personal. I shouldn't be here."

"You are her father; of course you are allowed to be here!" Christine tapped gently her daughters face to wake her. "And you've seen me in far less than an opened nightgown," she continued, feeling how a light blush crept up to her cheeks contrary that they'd been married for years now.

"It was different," he murmured almost inaudibly and rubbed his eyes before leaning back to the cushions. After a long pause, he sighed tiredly. "I don't know what to do with her."

"What do you mean?" She queried, turning slightly to look at him.

"I don't know anything about children. I can't keep her quiet, I can't feed her; she doesn't even need me!"

"I didn't know a lot about children earlier; I had to learn it also. But she does need you."

"For what?" He retorted in disbelief.

"Learning what safety is. Just hold her to teach her you're here. Or talk to her."

"She won't answer," he stated plainly; talking to someone who wouldn't reply was more than bizarre.

"No," Christine smiled. "But she likes simply to listen. Do you want to try?"

"No."

Christine tried with all of her abilities to hide her disappointment, but before the feeling could sink in, he spoke again. "But I'll hold her."

As careful as it was possible, she placed the little girl in his arms, watching how he tried to fake nonchalance over the process, yet it was enough to look into his eyes to see how overwhelmed he was. Especially after his daughter smiled at him. Christine knew it was because the little girl felt happy and content now that she wasn't hungry but it would be cruel to take away his belief that the smile was for him.

"They say that in a few weeks she would be able to recognize our voices and even our scent." And faces, she wanted to add but even in her drowsy state she remembered not to.

"Why is she doing this?" He asked in a tone she would call alarmed, for meanwhile their little daughter began to squirm excitedly, waving her arms in front of her father's face unintentionally. Why in the middle of the night Christine had no idea. All day long she usually slept without a sound then at nights she decided to discover all the new things she should have had during daytime. Christine made a mental note to ask Madame Giry about it the next time they would meet.

"That's how she learns how to move her arms, I think. Too bad that she does so in the middle of the night," she finished with a very unladylike yawn, leaning her head on her husband's shoulder. His tense tone startled her from her half-asleep state, though.

"Take her," he choked and Christine immediately did as he asked.

"What's wrong? What happened?"

"Nothing," he rasped and practically jumped from the couch, leaving Christine with the child behind as he headed to their bedroom.

"Erik, tell me! Is something wrong with her?" She asked, now definitely worried.

"She... she touched my face," he said and disappeared in the bedroom.

She wanted to follow him right away but things changed since she became a mother and comforting her husband could only come after she put her child to sleep. She felt guilty for not being able to do the two at the same time.

Several minutes passed until she finally crawled into bed again and it was obvious he wasn't sleeping yet. She touched his back softly nonetheless.

"Are you asleep?"

"You know that I'm not," he answered shortly.

For a short moment she said nothing, thinking about how to begin. "Erik, it wasn't intentional. She didn't mean to... to offend you."

Silence. She laid her palm on his shoulder, waiting for him to turn around but of course, he didn't.

"That's how she learns who you are. She doesn't know that your face is... different."

"Yet."

"Eventually she would have realized it anyway," she said in a tone that she hoped was soothing. They never spoke about his face anymore and to do so now put her on edge; blurred memories came back to her mind but none of them gave her any help how to best discuss the subject, only how not to. Hopefully that would be enough.

"I didn't want her to know."

His words echoed coldly in the darkness and had it not been his rigid posture and forced tone, she would have smiled at his naivety but in the current circumstances his remark wasn't funny at all. Something made her throat tighten; she tried so hard to make him forget about his face but he just couldn't. She couldn't blame him. When it was just the two of them he didn't seem to care about it anymore but for him their daughter was a stranger whose curiosity he eventually had to satisfy. She didn't like to think about how it could feel like.

"You think she betrayed you like... I did, don't you?" She asked sadly then felt him shudder under her palm and finally, finally he turned to his back, staring at the ceiling.

"I didn't say that."

"She will learn not to judge you by that. It wouldn't matter for her."

"It matters to me."

"I know," she sighed heavily and refrained from laying a hand on his chest; she knew it from experience that it would only anger him, suggesting that she pitied him. "But she'll love you," she added a moment later. "She already does."

"How can you be so sure?" He asked, slightly turning towards her.

"Children love their parents."

"I didn't love mine," he retorted and his eyes returned to the ceiling once again.

"It's not the same. You're not like you parents had been."

"You never even met them."

"If you're concerned about your daughter's love for you, you care about her. You're not like them." She was propped on her elbow, looking down at him; she knew his mind was still reeling with problems she didn't think they had to solve that night. Talking about them made him feel better, though.

"She will grow and ask questions I don't want to answer," he confessed finally.

"You don't have to tell her everything."

"Yes; lying proved to be so effective with you as well."

"I didn't say you'd lie to her. Just don't tell her everything until she gets older to understand it." With a sigh, she rested her forehead on his chest, feeling how he buried his fingers in her hair. His protective acceptance always felt marvelous. "Don't worry so," she whispered soothingly, draping an arm over his body. "You want answers from a mother who didn't even wake up to her daughter's cry."

"Christine, it's hardly the same."

"Do you think I know what I'm doing? Every day I'm faced with things I've never heard of. Knowing that you're here keeps me going, though."

"Don't say that."

"But it's true."

His fingers drew slow circles on her back and she slightly turned her head to face him. For minutes they were silent, simply staring at the other, then he reluctantly spoke again.

"I've never imagined that one day I'd have a child. Even the thought never crossed my mind." He fell silent and she waited patiently whatever he wanted to say. His heart beat evenly under her palm. "But now that I actually have one… I want to do it right."

"You will. And I'll always be here if you want to ask me." Bowing her head she pressed a reverent kiss to his chest. "I knew you'd come to accept the idea of being a father eventually."

"Aren't you disappointed?" He asked while burying his fingers into her curls again.

"For what?"

"That it took me so long."

"No. It doesn't matter now." Slowly she scrambled up to her customary position that she usually fell asleep. "Do you remember the night before our wedding?" She asked afterwards.

"Of course I do," he said and pulled her closer, folding his arm around her.

"You didn't answer me when I said I wish I could be your friend, just as you are mine."

"You _are_ my friend now."

"I know. Thank you," she whispered reverently.

In two minutes, all three members of their family were deep asleep again.


	5. Chapter 5

After Christine skillfully disappeared into the nearest passage she took a deep breath. After all, her return to stage went quite well, a full house celebrated her after the performance and many of her admirers returned to see her again. It was such a relief to now they still cared and were interested in her art. And maybe they wouldn't resent her disappearance and would attribute it to her family that she hadn't blend with them as usual.

Another deep breath.

Really, no one noticed that little slip in act two, nor did they realize how her voice wavered slightly in the last cadenza.

She closed her eyes and took another breath.

_But_he_definitely__noticed__them._

Not if he would stop adore her because of her mistakes but she wanted her performance to be as magnificent as it used to be, to prove to the illustrious audience that she hadn't abandoned her skills in those months they hadn't seen her.

_Next__time__I__'__ll__do__better._And he'd definitely understand.

_No, he wouldn't. _

And what was the most devastating that he didn't even need to be upset with her – it was more than enough to look into his eyes to learn his disapproval.

With one last sigh Christine pushed herself away from the cold stone wall and started for her dressing room, comforting herself with the thought that she'd see her little daughter again in mere minutes. _I__wonder__how__Erik__got__along__with__her__… __If__she__'__d__fallen__asleep__in__the__first__two__minutes__of__the__overture__he__didn__'__t__have__much__to__do__with__her._

And fortunately he already knew how to change her diapers – it wasn't without any complication to persuade him to it.

"I don't see what's wrong with changing it. It needs to be done," she said, taking the crying infant from her husband.

"I can't."

"But whyever not?" Christine cried out exasperatedly, hushing the wailing girl in her arms. He should have done the task lot earlier but seemingly, he didn't.

"She's a girl," he stated as if that basic knowledge went unnoticed by Christine.

"She is. And?"

"I won't undress her!" He barked, and taking a half-turn, he took a few steps aside as Christine placed the girl to the bed, preparing the necessities for the much needed task.

"I thought you're disgusted by the… mess," she said, and despite her earlier anger, she couldn't stifle the laugh that came to her lips from the look he had given her. "You're her father; you'd only help her to do what she can't just yet."

His eyes darted between her and the restless infant but he stood unmoving; and when Christine couldn't postpone it any longer and began to peel the layers of clothes from her daughter Erik finally gave in with a resigned sigh.

"Fine, show me what to do."

Hopefully he didn't have much trouble with her during tonight's performance, though.

Pushing the door open Christine entered the room to one of the strangest sight she'd ever seen: the floor was covered with Céline's little, painted cubes, her coverlet crumpled and littered with some more cubes and the bottom of the full-length mirror was grimy with tiny hand-shaped stains. Céline was sitting in front of it, adding some more stains with her open palms – and Erik was sitting right beside her.

"Céline," he said when the little girl tapped the glass again. Hearing her name she turned around – bracing herself on the mirror – and smiled at her father, then turned back to touch the begrimed mirror again.

"Céline," he repeated and the girl turned again, her eyes shining with the realization that it was indeed her name he said. When she returned to her reflection again, this time she reached to touch his father's face on the cold glass. After a moment of hesitation he revealed, "Father."

"Taa," Céline exclaimed happily and clapped her palms together, then lumped down to the floor and scrambled to sit on his father's crossed legs.

"I thought you hated mirrors," Christine said while addressing him about her presence and walking to him she sat on the carpet beside her family.

"I do." When Christine was still looking at him expectantly, he continued. "When I refused to come, she began to cry. When I tried to leave, she cried."

"And this?" Christine asked, lifting the white mask from the floor.

Erik looked at his wife as if the answer should have been obvious to her as well. "She cried."

His wife smiled at him omnisciently. "Erik, she's manipulating you."

"Nonsense! She is but a child," he said, taking away a cube that was halfway into his daughter's mouth and started to build a small castle for her to stop the flow of her tears.

"And she knows how to get what she wants," Christine retorted, watching how father and child played together now in complete understanding. Soon there was a tricky miniature building in front of them, consisting of mostly red and green cubes.

"Such an architect that you are," Christine smiled at her husband – in the same moment the now completely calm Céline pulled out the lowermost piece and the whole thing collapsed to the greatest happiness of the little girl.

"I think I've been just dismissed," he remarked dryly.

"Well, you have another assignment," Christine addressed him; Céline handed a sticky cell to her father again who presented her another ruinable house.

Basking in the peace of her family Christine was reluctant to speak again but it was also inevitable; the sooner she got his reprimanding words the better it was. "Erik, I'm sorry."

Before saying anything else he let out a deep sigh. "You met him again?" He asked without turning away from his daughter who meanwhile mimicked her father's buildings by constructing simple towers.

"No!" Christine cried out then sighed, continuing calmer than before. "I've ruined the last cadenza. And the third aria in act two as well. I'm sure you noticed."

Silence.

"Well… I didn't," he answered softly.

"Excuse me?"

"I didn't." When Christine did nothing but kept staring at him with wide eyes he added, "I haven't heard much from the whole performance."

"You weren't even listening?" She demanded; it took her five long minutes to calm herself before meeting him and now he dared to tell her he wasn't even listening?

"I tried."

"Then?"

"She prevented it." His sight met with her confused one but before revealing her the reason, he placed two bricks on top of each other to keep Céline occupied. "Do you have any idea how loud a child is during the overture? Had it not been the Phantom's box well before then, someone surely would have come in to find the source."

Christine tried to picture her husband while rocking a wailing infant in Box 5, the orchestra unseeingly playing in the background… It was impossible not to allow herself a smile.

"The stares lasted only for thirty seconds, though, until I found the perfect toy to silence her." Here he stopped and slowly raised his eyes to hers. "Sorry for your fan. You'll get another one."

"Well… but after that? There were still almost two hours left from the performance."

"Uh-hmm, yes," he answered mockingly, starting on a castle this time. "Soon se got tired from the fan. Considering that she can't walk yet she's rather fast, you know. But until I realized that fact I heard half of the intermezzo – Monsieur Reyer should pay more attention to the bassoon. He's been late quite a few times."

When the last tower collapsed, the little girl in front of them gave an adorable, huge yawn and scrambled to sit on her mothers lap, resting her head on her mother's chest. Christine hugged her daughter tightly, placing a little kiss on her forehead.

"So when I finally caught her she began to squirm and didn't rest until I brought her back here. And until I didn't give her some food."

"Impossible that she was able to eat at all. I fed her before I got to stage."

"Obviously, it wasn't enough. That was when the first act ended."

"You weren't here when I came in…"

"No. We went on for a search after her ball… which later I could barely catch during act two before it fell out of the box – fast as lightning gained a whole new meaning – and that fracture of minute was just enough for her to spill the whole bottle of water on her clothes. I brought her back here to change her attire." Stealing a glance at her Erik expected her to look disappointed or at least smiling at his clumsiness, but instead leaning closer Christine kissed first his cheek, then turning his head, his lips, too. She didn't seem upset, judging from the kiss she'd given him, he decided.

"I don't mind at all that you haven't heard that disaster. People didn't notice it, I think, but I need you to make me feel confident again," she said when she pulled back.

"She's rather tired," he suggested, looking at Céline who was almost asleep in her mother's arms.

"I hope so," Christine smiled and gave him another, meaningful kiss – her free hand's fingers slid through his hair easily; arriving home couldn't come fast enough after that, Erik thought.

It was Erik who rose from the floor first, pulling up Christine with their child afterwards. "Give her to me; I'll hold her until you change," he offered and in no time the little family was ready to leave for home.

It was only then that they'd been discovered, when Christine was closing the door to her dressing room while Erik was balancing in his arms Céline, who was relentlessly trying to get free from his hold.

"Christine, dear!"

At the familiar voice both Christine and Erik stopped in mid-motion; then Christine turned around to greet the approaching Madame Giry while Erik stood unmoving, his tense back to the two women. Céline was tirelessly squirming on his arms, and since there was no chance to disappear from the following scene, he grudgingly turned around as well. Madame Giry was holding a little knitted sweater in one of his hands, as if an explanation of her presence.

Erik regarded her coldly.

"Good evening, Erik," she said frigidly, looking up into his eyes with feigned calmness.

After a stunned, silent moment he answered her in a similar tone. "Madame." And it was as if his eyelids moved a little down, as if to greet her, but he said nothing else and turned his eyes to the restless little creature in his arms.

"You forgot this in my room," the woman said and handed Christine the small piece of clothing, which she took and tucked away in their satchel; all the while feeling the burning sight of his husband on her movements.

"Thank you," she murmured, shifting on her feet uneasily. "We, uhm… we were about to leave; you came just in time," she stuttered inelegantly, more and more nervous in the awkward silence. Erik never talked about Madame Giry and even when he did mention her once or twice it was with great reluctance. Undoubtedly, he was still holding against her how she showed the way to his lair years ago to his enemy and Christine longed to disappear before the disaster could unfold.

Meanwhile the boring little girl gave up her futile attempts to get her father walking and began to chew on the top button of his coat; he gently took it from her mouth and took her hand to keep her from further mischief. Something metallic glistened on one of his fingers, the older woman noticed.

"Céline, stop that."

Christine was right, Madame Giry thought. Erik really was the man she had described him to her, and from his current demeanor she was fully convinced about his abilities as a husband and father. The way he talked to his daughter, or how he held her tiny, damp fist in his much bigger palm; he was so much more than he had been forced to live for years under the opera house.

_The Devil's Child…_

Years ago Madame Giry wondered if it was the wisest thing to help him hide from the authorities as a little boy, after that tremendous year culminated in burning down the whole theater – but then a week later Christine came back to her with the announcement that she'd marry the Phantom in a few days. The ballet mistress couldn't have been more appalled. At first she didn't even believe it but after Christine's repeated assurance that it was indeed her choice, she accepted it. Of course, she wasn't present on the ceremony, nor did she saw Erik for years – truth be told, they almost never talked even before that horrible year.

From the beginning she was rather wary towards his relationship with the orphaned little Christine, but until his intentions didn't take a romantic turn towards his protégé she approved, though half-heartedly. Things changed, however, when it turned out that Erik took interest in the now grown up young woman, and Madame Giry didn't talk much with him after he flatly refused not to pursue Christine. The memory of her tortured conscience returned now with vivid details; the whole nights she'd spent awake thinking, whether it was for the better to allow Christine to spend more time in the presence of her Angel… In the end she had little voice in the matter, and now she was utterly grateful for fate that it played out as it did.

Briefly she closed her eyes against the threatening tears.

_He had found his place._

"You have a wonderful little daughter, Erik," Madame Giry said at last and Erik snapped up his head immediately, looking sharply into the eyes of his interrogator.

"Yes," came his curt answer. There was a short pause before she spoke again.

"Next time Christine comes out for dinner, you could accompany her," she offered tentatively, swallowing anxiously when his whole posture stiffened at her proposal.

"No."

Christine began to fidget in the suddenly deeply disturbing silence, but before she had to step in to save the situation, Madame Giry spoke again.

"Or for tea."

Silence again.

In Erik's arms Céline started to jitter and relentlessly tugged at every button, pulling them with every ounce of her tiny strength in the hope of ripping any of them. Erik gently brushed her fingers aside.

"Perhaps," he answered bluntly to the woman, casting nothing more than a side glance at her.

Madame Giry let out some air that she was holding. She had no illusions, though; Erik would never consent anything out of politeness. And if he would indeed come, he certainly wouldn't have a nice talk with her over the tea, discussing the weather or something similarly irrelevant matter. But he agreed, although half-heartedly, and it was a start.

"Excellent," she concluded and allowed a small smile to form on her lips before turning back to the seemingly dumbfounded Christine. "Take care of you, dear."

"I will," Christine stammered, returning the brief kiss to her face. "You too."

"Good night," Madame Giry bid farewell to the little family, which Christine answered in words and Erik with the softest nod of his head.

After Madame's departure they stood still in the doorway for a long minute, neither of them finding the words to spoke first.

"She's been planning to ask you for months now," Christine said at last, starting to walk towards one of the side doors.

"Why is she so eager to have a murderer at her table?" Erik growled, still amazed that he almost agreed to visit her.

"She's curious," Christine answered nonchalantly. _And__feels__guilty._

"Who wouldn't," he muttered.

"Not at your face," Christine said gently and linked her arm with his. "I told her how a devoted father you are." She looked at their daughter fondly, who meanwhile had fallen asleep on her father's shoulder; Christine straightened the tiny hat on her head.

"Am I?"

"Of course." She gave a brief kiss to his lips. "And a devoted husband, too."

"She's never going to believe you."

"Oh, I think she already does."

"Knowing this I'm not going anywhere," he concluded stiffly.

"Of course not," she smiled.


End file.
